As Blood Cells Divide
by Tweetypen
Summary: Post season 4. How do Wilson and House deal with the events from the season finale? And what will happen when Wilson has to face a life-threatening disease? Will House be able to be there for him?
1. The Funeral

**Author's notes: **Okay, as ever, I do not own House MD or any of the characters, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit.

The story is rated T just to be safe due to some minor language and dark themes (cancer). Hope you "enjoy" the story and take something away from it. It is set post season 4. The first few chapters will deal mainly with the aftermath of the season finale, to explain why the characters reacted the way they did and how they move on. This will hopefully set the scene for the actual story. The first chapter is quite short, I'm already in the process of checking over chapter 2 & 3 so they should hopefully be up soon. Again, enjoy...

**Summary: **What happens to House and Wilson's friendship after the devastating events of the season 4 finale? When Wilson is confronted with a serious illness, how will he cope and how will House react?

* * *

**Chapter 1**

On the day of the funeral, the weather was bright and sunny, but James Wilson could not bring himself to enjoy beautiful spring day even in the slightest. He drove alone to the cemetery, the radio, usually turned up to maximum volume, playing old country songs was now silent. Only a few days had gone by since the death of Amber Volakis and he was unsure how to deal with her death.

He had stayed at home since it happened, crying in her pillow, lying on their bed and reading her last note over and over again.

_Sorry I'm not here. Went to pick up House. Love A_

House. Wilson had not seen him since he left the hospital on the night Amber, when he had left House in the ICU, a sleeping Cuddy by his side. House had slowly opened his eyes and looked straight at Wilson. A questioning look, a stare begging him for forgiveness. But there was no need for forgiveness.

Wilson was not so much angry at House. He was angry at life, at the bus driver, the lorry driver, mostly at life. House had not intended to harm Amber. He had tried to get her to leave, but she had followed him onto the bus, not knowing that she would be dead in a weeks time. So no, Wilson was not angry and yet, with a certain irrational anger, he hated House. Hated House for ruining his life, his marriages, his relationship with Amber. And he hated that he felt guilty, so guilty for asking of House what he had asked.

Wilson had not wanted to see House after that night. Cuddy had phoned him multiple times, saying that House needed him, asking him how he was doing and giving him indefinite leave from the hospital. She had said House was doing well. He would be released in about a week, no lasting damage from the deep brain stimulation.

Still Wilson could not bring himself to go visit House. He could not face the deep blue, sad eyes of his former best friend. They had been so full of pain the last time he saw them, pain he had inflicted.

_I had no right to ask him to do the procedure. I had no right to want to hate him._

However he had asked House and House had agreed, instantly, because he felt it was his duty to save Wilson's girlfriend, because he cared.

And that had perhaps been one of the most shocking revelations in this experience. House cared. Deeply. About Wilson. So much, that he would risk his own life for the minimal chance of saving Amber's.

The funeral passed by in a haze. Wilson stared blankly into space and afterwards could not remember who had been there. Had Cuddy been there? He was not sure anymore. The only thing he knew was that Amber was gone and House had not been there. House was in the hospital and it was Wilson's fault.

He went home, sat on his and Amber's bed and stared at the wall. And then he cried, cried for a love lost and a shattered friendship.

He sat there for days, not eating, hardly sleeping. He was no longer hungry. He was exhausted but did not want to sleep. Dark circles ran under his eyes.

Absentmindedly he rubbed at the big bruise on his thigh where House had kicked him when Wilson had tried to hold him still during the seizure. The bruise was big and an angry purple, but Wilson did not notice.


	2. Back to Work

Gregory House was discharged from the hospital a week later. He had relentlessly bullied the nursing staff, Cuddy and Foreman into letting him go home and they had finally capitulated.

The cab driver that took him home tried to talk to him about the weather, but House did not answer. He stared blankly out of the window, watching the trees flash by and thought back to the peaceful scene on the bus with Amber.

_Wilson is going to hate me._

_You kind of deserve it._

Yes, he did deserve it. He had finally hurt his best friend so much he wouldn't even visit him anymore. He had hurt Wilson to the point where Wilson did not care if House lived or died.

Only once before had he felt so alone. On Christmas Eve the year before, when Wilson had left him in a pool of his own vomit on his living room floor.

He tried to tell himself that this was similar. That he could not help what had happened. He was in pain, he was miserable. There had been an accident. Someone had died. Full stop. No intent, no guilt.

But it was different this time. He had not just hurt himself. He had killed Amber. Killed Amber. Amber. Killed.

He had not been to the funeral. Cuddy would not let him, because of the seizure and he was not sure if he had wanted to be there in the first place.

_Criminals always return to the scene of their crime._

He had not returned. He could not face Wilson. Not now, not then, maybe not ever again.

--

On the same day, a week after the funeral, Wilson returned to work. The walls of the apartment he had shared with Amber were weighing down on him. He could not be there without thinking about her. The very smell of the apartment brought tears back into his eyes.

So he went back to Princeton Plainsboro, sat behind his desk, saw patients just as if nothing had happened.

He skipped lunch, because he was not particularly hungry and there was no one to eat with. Not that he was particularly hungry these days anyway.

House did not come to drag him away from his work. The Diagnostics lounge was silent. He was obviously not here.

_Probably at home getting high on Vicodin_, the angry part of Wilson thought, but then immediately afterwards a small voice in the back of his head whispered _Or he is at home, recovering from what you did to him_.

Disgusted with himself, Wilson turned towards the next patient file.

House was not in his lounge. He was sitting on the balcony, staring into the pouring rain, occasionally glancing at Wilson's office. But Wilson did not know that.

Cameron came by in the late afternoon. She wordlessly put down a sandwich on Wilsons desk, considered saying something to him, then turned to leave, but before she left, she looked at Wilson for a moment and he could see the pity in her eyes. He looked away as to not invite her to talk to him.

Because of this he missed the worried look in her eyes as she took in his thin, pale face. The dark circles under his eyes and the lab coat that hung slack around his now much thinner shoulders.

He had lost a lot of weight over the past two weeks.


	3. Interference

Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine, sighed and rubbed her eyes. The mountain of paperwork on her desk would not diminish even as she sat here, hour after hour. Reading, signing, reading, signing.

She thought about the past two weeks. Amber's death had hit everyone hard, even the people who had not liked her very much in the first place. Everyone grieved. For Wilson, for Amber, for their love lost .

But no one grieved for House. Because once again, House had survived, apparently without lasting damage. House was like a cat, a super-cat, because Cuddy was sure that his nine lives had been used up many years ago.

No one cared about House. House was an ass, House hurt everyone around him. So no one cared.

But that wasn't true. Cuddy cared. She stared at her office door, expecting House to come in any minute, demanding consent for yet another outrageous procedure, but House did not come.

Cameron also cared. But Cuddy knew that Cameron would be unable to fix House. Cameron cared for damaged people, not for repairing the damage done.

And Wilson had once cared. Whether he still cared, Cuddy was unsure. She had phoned him a couple of times. Trying to convince him to visit House, call him, or just leave a message. But Wilson had not wanted to have contact with House.

He had asked how House was doing, but that was it. It seemed like the only one who cared about what House was feeling was Lisa Cuddy.

She sighed and then grabbed her pager.

_James Wilson. To Cuddy's office._

--

James Wilson was asleep on the couch in his office when his pager disrupted his slumber. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. Sleep had not come easy in the last week and a permanent tiredness had settled over him.

When he read the page he got up and tried to unwrinkle his labcoat. He left his office and glanced at the Diagnostics lounge while making his way to the elevator. Still no sign of House.

--

The first thing Cuddy noticed when Wilson walked into her office was how pale and thin he looked. Amber's death had left a visual mark on the normally cheerful oncologist.

But it was not only the death of his girlfriend that affected Wilson. As Cuddy suspected, Wilson needed House even though Wilson himself was unaware of this fact. House, however sarcastic and sometimes downright evil made Wilson smile. He was like the oncologists evil twin.

And it was not like Wilson just took the abuse from House. A hint of a smile still played around Cuddy's lips when she thought about the trick Wilson had played on House's cane.

Wilson needed House, as much as House needed Wilson, but none of them realised this. It was time for her to set right what had been jarred by the bus crash.

„How are you doing?". Cuddy's tone was concerned when she addressed Wilson.

Wilson settled into the chair opposite her desk and let his gaze wander around the room for a moment before answering. It finally settled on the door, where he had stood just a couple of weeks before, waiting fro House and Amber to settle their fight over who would get to spend time with Wilson.

He smiled slightly at the memory, but Cuddy's question tore him away from his thoughts and back to reality.

„Okay, I guess.". His answer was short, but there was not much more he wanted to say. What could he possibly tell her about?

The ever lasting, almost searing pain that losing someone he loved had brought to him? The loneliness? The evenings and days spent crying in their apartment? His hatred and at the same time guilt towards House?

It was too complicated and he could not and did not want to talk about it just yet.

Cuddy nodded, but could not resist to add „You should talk to him. He has been asking about you.".

Wilson glared at her. Then he jumped up from his chair and bolted for the door. Tears had appeared in his eyes.

_Why? Why would he ask for me? I don't want to see him. I can't look him in the eyes and pretend to be his friend. Pretend like I never asked him to give up his life for Amber. Pretend Amber never died. Pretend all is like it was before. I cannot do it._

„James".

Cuddy spoke softly and it was this soft tone that made WIlson stop and turn around.

„Yes?"

„Take some more time off work. Grieve. Come to terms with what happened. Please, for your own sake. Give yourself some time...".

Wilson shook his head.

„I'm fine. I don't need more time. I don't want to be in the apartment. I like my work. Lisa, I need to get back to work, get on with my life, please.".

The last word was barely a whisper, but Cuddy understood. Wilson could not handle being alone in the apartment for too long where everything reminded him of Amber.

_And maybe this is good. Maybe he will run into House. Maybe they will fix things._

Out loud she said. „All right. If you need anything...", she paused, not sure how to continue, but WIlson interrupted her.

„It's okay. I know. You're a good friend, Lisa, thanks.". And with that he left her office.

She stared at his retreating back, wondering if anything would ever be the same again.


	4. Symptoms

**Author's note: **Thanks to those who have reviewed so far. I am sorry but there won't be another update for about another week as I won't have access to a computer for a bit. I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway and I'll update again asap. The next chapter will start the actual story :-) I just felt that after the events of the finale some relationships and feelings had to be explained first in the way I want to use them. I hope that makes sense and you enjoyed my view of how Wilson and House feel after the season 4 finale. Now, on with the story!

--

Wilson made his way back to his office after his talk with Cuddy. He would take some time off, but right now he had too much to do, he told himself.

He settled behind his desk once more and began reading through more patient files. Outside, it was beginning to get dark. Still no light in House's office.

He yawned and rubbed his burning eyes tiredly. Just one more file, just one more, he told himself. Then he would go home.

He woke up twenty minutes later, when someone knocked on his door.

_Must have been more tired than I thought._

Out loud he said, „Yes?".

The door opened and revealed Cameron. Her blonde hair was a mess and one look at her crumpled clothing told him that she had had a very busy day in the ER.

„How are you doing? I mean, I was wondering if you needed someone, you know, to talk to.".

A slight smile tugged at Wilson's lips. Cameron through and through. She had obviously had a rough day herself and still she would want to mother over others.

„I'm okay, I guess.", he gave her a smile that did not reach his eyes. „A lot of work, very busy. I might stay a little later tonight.".

A frown of disapproval crossed Cameron's features. „Cuddy asked me to make sure you left and took some time off. I can give you a ride if you want."

Wilson sighed. „Look, Cameron, I appreciate what all of you are trying to do, but I need to deal with this in my own time, on my own terms. All of you interfering is not helping me, so please, leave me alone.".

His words sounded harsher than he meant them and he saw this reflected in Cameron's eyes.

„I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be offensive, but I just need some space and I need to be alone.".

Her expression softened a little and she smiled. „Take care of yourself.".

She turned to leave, but as she walked towards the door she overlooked the trash can placed beside Wilsons desk and fell over.

Wilson winced inwardly as she hit her head against his desk on the way down. He jumped up and rushed towards her, to help.

She sat on the floor, a slightly dazed look on her face. She brought her hand up to where a massive bruise was now forming on her forehead. „Ow."

„Cameron, are you ok?". A blurry face appeared in her line of vision, a face she immediately identified as Wilson's.

„Yes, I'm fine, don't worry.". Wilson stretched out his hand to help her up and she grabbed it. A moment later she was back on her feet.

Wilson was surprised to see her looking worriedly at him once more.

„What's wrong?".

She pointed at his wrist. „Where did you get that bruise?".

He looked at her questioningly, then at his wrist. There was a purple bruise just in the place where he always rested his wrist on his desk whilst typing.

„I don't know.", he said, then in a more confident tone, „must have banged it against something.".

Cameron looked dubious but let the topic rest. She opened the door and made to leave. „Goodnight Wilson".

Wilson did not answer. He stared at his wrist. Then he pulled up his other sleeve. An identical bruise stared at him. He tried to calm himself, to rid himself of the mind-numbing fear that had taken control of him.

He stared into the darkness, studied the raindrops hitting the glass window and he wondered if he had finally lost it. Had he unknowingly become so depressed that he was self-destructive? Self-destructive without even noticing?

He knew for a fact that the bruises had not been there when he had been working earlier. So they must have appeared while he was asleep. What had he done to himself whilst asleep?

Once he had his fear under control he decided to go home for the night.

_Take some sleeping pills. Knock myself out so I can't hurt myself._

--

House, still sitting outside, noticed how Wilson's light was turned off. For a brief moment he considered leaving as well and maybe running into Wilson by mistake, but then he remembered the look Wilson had given him on the night Amber had died and he turned his gaze to the rain again.

He waited until the headlights of Wilson's car disappeared out of sight before slowly limping inside and towards the elevator.

Only now did he realise how cold he was. He shivered. His leg hurt from the cold, spasms shot all the way up into his back. He groaned and popped two Vicodin into his mouth before limping towards his motorcycle.

Minutes later, he was also gone.


End file.
